


Running Hot

by messedupstargazer



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Backstory, Brotherly Bonding, Ezekiel needs a hug, Fever Dreams, Fever treatment, Gen, Jake is a good guy, Showers, Sickfic, So does Jake, Why Ezekiel never talks about his past, non-romantic, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 21:38:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7908472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messedupstargazer/pseuds/messedupstargazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since Jake wasn’t exactly familiar with taking care of people, Jenkins had given him a reading list which he had devoured while Jones slept. He wasn’t that kind of doctor, but he knew how to treat a fever. Except now Jones’s fever had skyrocketed and Jake was very much contemplating calling an ambulance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running Hot

Jake dipped the washcloth into the cold water and placed it back on Jones’s forehead. The young thief moaned and his mouth moved but no words came out. Jones had been stricken by a fever, a non-magical one, that had very quickly sapped him of his strength and left him sweating and incoherent.

The one time they had a librarian down, of course, two clippings had appeared in the book. Jenkins had gone with Cassandra, and Eve with Flynn and Jake had elected to stay behind to take care of their resident thief, a surprise to all. He knew Cassandra would get lost in her own world, thinking of the worst case scenarios, Eve had no bedside manner, Flynn couldn’t sit still, and he knew Jenkins would be needed out in the field this time. So he knew he would have to care of Jones, which strangely he didn’t quite mind.

He had never had any brothers before, and although Jones annoyed the hell out of him, he could assume the role while Jones was mostly unaware he was being taken care of. Since Jake wasn’t exactly familiar with taking care of people, Jenkins had given him a reading list which he had devoured while Jones slept. He wasn’t that kind of doctor, but he knew how to treat a fever. Except now Jones’s fever had skyrocketed and Jake was very much contemplating calling an ambulance. He grabbed the thermometer and tried to slip it under Jones’s tongue. Jones weakly fought it.

“No, no, please, just…” Jones’s trailed off, too weak to talk.

“Hush, Jones. Just relax.” Jake whispered and managed to get the thief to comply. He waited impatiently as the thermometer measured how hot Jones was burning. When it beeped, he removed it and sighed. He dug his phone out of his pocket and called Jenkins.

“Yes, Mr. Stone?” Jenkins answered.

“Jenkins, Jones is burning up. I just checked his temp and I don’t know what to do. The books you gave me didn’t deal with intense fevers, just minor ones. Should I take him to the hospital?” Jake asked.

“No hospital! No hospital… no.” Jones shouted, an intense reaction that stole what little strength Jones had. He had reached out blindly and he caught Jake’s hand. “Please, Jake. Please.”

Jake almost couldn’t breathe, could barely hear Jenkins on the other end of the phone, Jones’s use of his first name echoing in his head, could barely feel Jones’s touch on his hand, could only see the fear in fever-clouded eyes.

“Okay, Jones. No hospital. I promise.” Jake found himself saying.

Jones relaxed and his eyes fluttered closed. The weak grip on his hand went slack.

“Jones? Jones!” Jake hissed, and put the phone back on his ear.

“Did I hear you promising not to take him to the hospital?” Jenkins demanded.

“I did. He was really freaking out. I don’t think taking him to a hospital is going to help him. I think he may have passed out.” Jake explained.

“How high is his temperature now?” Jenkins asked.

“103.7, I just checked it a minute ago.” Jake repeated.

“That is high.” Jenkins muttered.

“Can you come and take care of him?” Jake asked, knowing he was out of his league.

“No. I cannot conjure a door here, and will not be able to return quickly enough to help. Though, I am on my way. Miss Cillian can handle things from here. Is Mr. Jones unconscious?” Jenkins crushed his hope that he wouldn’t be doing this alone. Jones needed a doctor, not a P.H.D.

“Jones, wake up.” Jake tapped his face and got no reaction. “He’s out.”

“Get to the communal shower,” Jenkins ordered, “or his own would be fine, and douse him in cold water. Not ice cold, but colder than lukewarm but not by much. We don’t want to overload his system. I know this might be uncomfortable but get him out of his underwear and make sure you don’t hit his chest straight on in the beginning.”

“Once that happens, what then?” Jake asked.

“Hopefully, he will wake up and bring the thermometer with you. Once he’s cooled down to at the most, one hundred and one, then bring him back to bed and make sure his cognitive functions are still in some sort of faculty. After that, I should be able to take over from there.” Jenkins commanded.

Jake assented and hung up. He lifted Jones, which honestly should’ve taken much more strength than it did. Jake had been getting Jones to eat enough to keep him healthy, and he hadn’t dropped a significant amount of weight. Jake carried him to the bathroom attached to the room and set Jones down on the toilet. He sagged against the cold porcelain, still completely unconscious. Whether he had exerted too much energy, or the fever had robbed him of his sentience, Jake wasn’t sure. He started running the water to give it ample time to cool down, he knew he preferred hot showers as Portland weather was very different from Oklahoma and sometimes he really missed the heat but he wasn’t sure about Jones. Jake guided the loose T-Shirt off and swallowed his discomfort to ease the gym shorts off and then Jones’s boxers.

“Thank God you can’t see this right now.” Jake muttered and stripped himself down to his own underwear and grabbed Jones under his arms and hauled the unconscious man into the shower. Jake had tipped the shower head to hit Jones’s feet first and Jones moaned.

“I’m so cold, Jake. Please, stop.” Jones whimpered.

“At least you know this is still me.” Jake whispered. “I’m sorry, Ezekiel, but if I don’t do this, you won’t get better.”

Jake gently guided the shower head up towards Jones’s torso and Jones cried out. His arms weakly flailed out, trying to defend himself from the assault of cold on him but he wasn’t strong enough to do anything. Jake held him fast as Jones started to cry.

“Please, stop. Please, I won’t tell. I swear I won’t tell!” Jones sobbed.

“Jones, it’s okay. Calm down, it’s okay.” Jake struggled.

Jones’s mouth opened but only a whimper escaped.

“Ezekiel, calm down. Everything’s going to be all right. I’m here.” Jake took a chance, knowing Jones had gone with his first name, hoping Jones’s own first name would calm the man.

The risk paid off, as Jones sagged in his arms, the fight gone. Jake somehow managed to get the thermometer under Jones’s tongue and he waited. When it went off, it read 102.4. According to Jenkins, that wasn’t low enough. So he stayed still, them both getting soaked and Jake felt the cold of the water but he pushed it aside. This was going to help Jones and that’s what mattered. And Jones was out of it enough so only Jake would remember, never to mention this again, but the words he spoke were echoing in his mind. He knew Jones would kill him, but he couldn’t get those words out of his mind. Growing up in Oklahoma, with men who drank until they were drunk with the bible in their hands, and hospitals knew not to ask questions, certain things started to take root in his mind. He stood, thinking of how thin Jones looked, of how his voice was so weak, and then he realized he was running his hands through Jones’s hair, the same way his mother had whenever he got sick. Jones’s eyes fluttered opened and he frowned.

“Mate, what are you doing?” He croaked, a glaze still over his eyes but it was less than before.

“Open your mouth.” Jake ordered, his hand snatching the thermometer.

Jones looked confused but did as Jake asked. Jake slipped the thermometer under his tongue again and it beeped at 100.8 and that was good enough for Jake. He hauled Jones out of the shower, wrapped a towel around him, and set him back on the toilet. He shut off the water, dried himself while Jones stared with a frown, as if trying to make sense of the scene around him.

“What’s going on?” Jones asked.

“You’re sick. I had to cool you down.” Jake answered curtly.

Jones nodded slowly, still looking confused.

Once he was dry, and had changed back into his clothes after removing his soaked underwear, he put Jones’s arm around his shoulders and heaved him to his feet. He managed to get Jones’s underwear and gym shorts back on, and then he half-carried half-walked Jones back to bed. Jones flopped down onto his bed and closed his eyes.

“Jones?” Jake asked, unsure of whether he should let Jones sleep.

“C’mon, Jake, leave a guy alone.” Jones whined.

“Jenkins needs to check you out, then you can sleep. He should be here soon.” Jake said and he got a towel and started to dab at his forehead and neck. But it was his chest that stood out. Pale scars littered Jones’s chest and Jake’s heart went to his throat. Some of those scars looked decades old. He was reminded that Jones was only about twenty-four. Truthfully, he didn’t know how old Jones actually was. He made a mental note to ask once Jones got better.

“Mr. Stone, report.” Jenkins’ voice spooked him as the old man sat next to him.

“I got his temp down to 100.8 and he’s sort of awake but not really.” Jake replied.

“Mr. Jones?” Jenkins asked. “Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you.” Jones moaned. “I want to sleep.”

“If you answer some questions for me, you can sleep. What month is it?” Jenkins inquired.

“February.” Jones responded.

“What’s your full name?” Jenkins questioned.

“Ezekiel Jones.” Jones said.

“What is your job?” Jenkins questioned.

“Librarian. Thief.” Jones mumbled, clearly falling asleep again.

“All right. Get some sleep, Mr. Jones, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Jones is out before Jenkins finishes his sentence.

“He’ll be okay, right?” Jake asked.

“Yes, his brain seems to be functioning normally, if that can be said for Mr. Jones, but there doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage. You did very well, Mr. Stone.” Jenkins praised.

The praise felt weird, almost undeserved. He felt like he had read Jones’s diary without his permission, the scars and fear in his voice blatantly broadcasted one thing but Jake didn’t want to believe it. Jones couldn’t have survived that. He knew the only way to get answers was to ask Jones, something he didn’t want to do for the life of him. Jones never talked about his life before the Library, unless he had to and he remembered how unhappy Jones had looked while sharing that he had worked for MI6. He didn’t want anyone asking questions about him, he always got defensive when Cassandra asked him about his home life. Jake knew Eve had noticed but he was fairly sure Flynn made her back off. Maybe he should ask Flynn how to approach this when he returned.

“How did the mission go?” Jake asked, the silence unsettling him. Jones was never silent.

“It succeeded. Miss Cillian and I were able to subdue the artifact and she should be returning soon. Speaking of, I must go to the door in case she or Mr. Carson calls.” Jenkins bid him adieu.

Jake sat at his post once more, just watching Jones’s chest rise and fall. Hopefully, the shower would break the fever the young man was still encased in. Jones seemed a lot less strung out, he wasn’t tossing and turning any more. But it was almost strange to see Jones so still. Jones was always moving, even when he was asleep. It wasn’t always blatant but it was there. Now, Jones was as still as a statue. Jake sighed and dipped the cloth back into the water and placed it on Jones’s forehead. The thief’s eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. The movement was good enough for Jake.

He waited for about half an hour before someone joined him.

“How’s he doing?” Cassandra asked quietly.

“He’s doing better.” Jake replied.

Cassandra smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. “He’s got a good looker-after taking care of him.”

Jake smiled softly and Cassandra faded into silence. Eve and Flynn joined them not long after.

“Jenkins told us he’s doing better. He certainly looks better.” Eve whispered.

“He’s going to be fine.” Jake stated.

Just then, Jones’s eyes blinked open and he frowned. “Why is everyone in my room?”

They all burst into a grin, happy that Jones was now coherent. Flynn explained that he had gotten a little sick but now they were all glad he was better. They all filed out, except for Jake.

“Mate, you don’t have to stay with me. It’s just a little fever.” Jones dismissed.

“Actually, it wasn’t.” Jake muttered.

“What do you mean?” Jones asked, hearing him.

“Your fever got pretty high at one point but you’re just fine now.” Jake summarized.

“But there’s more to it.” Jones noticed.

“I had a question to ask you but if you’re not feeling up to it, I can wait.” Jake said.

Jones frowned. “What question?”

“You’re not feeling strong, it’s all right.” Jake tried.

“What question?” Jones repeated, his eyes filling with mistrust.

“Why did you swear not to tell anyone your parents hit you?” Jake asked and immediately regretted it. Jones’s eyes flashed with anger.

“Who said they did? I never said they did!” Jones spat.

“Then who was it? Who gave you those scars?” Jake pressed.

“I was in a car accident when I was seven.” Jones deflected.

“Those injuries don’t match for a car accident.” Jake shot back.

“My parents never hit me.” Jones beseeched.

“Then who did?” Jake insisted. “I’m not trying to force you to talk to me but this is something that should never be kept a secret.”

“How would you know?” Jones hissed.

“Because my dad hit me too.” Jake revealed. “He never approved of anything I did, and sometimes when I made a mistake he corrected it with his fists. That’s why I hid my genius away because I knew I would get a good beating if he found out. My father’s a good man but he has his faults. I told a friend of mine when he noticed I came to school with a black eye and he threatened to call the cops on my dad. He never hit me again. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. But just tell me who you can talk to.”

Jones shifted uncomfortably. “I wasn’t lying. I was in a car accident when I was seven. That’s just the accident that killed my parents. I survived. The foster care system isn’t that great. Some people weren’t ever meant to be parents, temporary or otherwise. Some would hurt me worse if I even thought about telling. So when I was twelve, I ran away. I taught myself how to pick pockets, and then I found other ways of stealing and I survived on that. Stealing came easily to me so I used that to put bread on the table. I got better and better until MI6 found me and you know the rest.”

Jake nodded and stayed in silence. There was nothing to say.

“I don’t want you to treat me differently.” Jones whispered, maybe unconsciously.

“I’m not going to. You’re still the annoying thief you always were, I just know more now. That’s all.” Jake stated.

Jones frowned in confusion.

“I’m not Cassandra or Eve. I’m definitely not Flynn. I still know who you are. That hasn’t changed.” Jake explained.

Jones nodded.

“I’ll let you get some sleep, Jones.” Jake squeezed Jones’s shoulder slightly and left the room with a newfound respect for Jones.


End file.
